


So They Dream

by Sougiya_Hara



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Consensual, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 03:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2333225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sougiya_Hara/pseuds/Sougiya_Hara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one is owned by a demon, all dreams are possible. Even eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So They Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fan fiction story based on 'Kuroshitsuji'. I don't own these characters (alas!). No copyright infringement is intended and this is a non-profit work of art. (Well, I certainly hope someone other than me thinks it's art.)

Ciel dreams.

In this year of Our Lord 2014, 1875 seems far away indeed, and yet strangely close; no more than a moment, surely.

He should have been dead long ago, if for no other reason than age. His life has been hanging over the abyss more than once. He's almost used to it now. There is an invisible world that moves alongside and among the everyday world most perceive, and Ciel has been walking in its shadows for a long time. 127 years, to be exact.

He is here in this 'brave new world' (as some would style it) because of two things: a demon and a deal. He gave his soul, at first, for the power to take revenge on those who'd ruined his life; later, he gave the rest of him-- body, mind and heart-- because he'd begun to dimly hope to regain what he'd lost, at least in some measure.

It's a patchwork thing, in ways. He lives a nomad's existence. Has to, really. Since the day Sebastian contracted with him he has not significantly changed. His aging is subject to the will of the demon who owns him, and it is tacitly agreed between them that perhaps such a troublesome trifle as growing older can for the most part be made away with. After all, demons don't age. Why should their property? It would ruin his worth.

It's more than that, though. That's only the first gambit of their century-old game. Ciel does not change because he doesn't want to. Inconvenient as looking like a 16 year old boy is at times, he clings to the image. It makes people underestimate him, a dangerous thing for them and a profitable thing for him. It's quite believable for him to be older, especially with the right documents, in this age where 10 year olds look like teens and 50 year olds use any means to recapture their youth.

And what Ciel wants, Ciel gets, because although he is owned by a demon, the demon is also owned. He is Ciel's servant, sealed by blood and pain and all that lies between them, which in the end has become much more powerful than either of them expected.

Since his supposed death in 1891, they've moved across the continents as they willed. Here an opera singer and his wealthy young patron. There a professor of philosophy and his young ward. Once a painter with a younger cousin, sent to the countryside for his health. A few years, then they move on, careful not to stay in any one place too long. This is the longest they've held to one name and one home since he was the Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog. In a few more years there might be an 'accident', or perhaps not. Maybe this time Ciel will try the new and novel experience of becoming an adult. Sebastian can always make him younger again.

No matter what the facade, there is one constant; throughout their wanderings they have remained master and servant, contractor and contractee, companions... and lovers.

The circles of Hell must be laughing over this jest still, that one of their highest is bound by his own will to a mere mortal, a boy; how much more they would howl in derision did they suspect the true nature of the bond. Love between a mortal and a demon? Ridiculous. Impossible.

Ciel has learned a great deal about the impossible, and about himself. Most of all he's learned that he cannot, will not, give up Sebastian for any reason or reward; the demon is reason and reward enough for anything, for everything.

It is violent at times and gentle at others, this feeling shared between them. It is fierce and searing and demanding, warm and comforting and soothing; it howls and screams and shakes the ramparts, it sings and purrs and dances. It will not let them be nor will it be silenced for long. Obsession. Addiction. Call it those and any other terms you want; Ciel doesn't care. He and the demon that chose him are woven together in a way that none before and none since have ever been, and it is their strength and comfort against all that would tear them or drive them apart.

There are those who want that dissolution very badly. Ciel's soul is, simply, unique. It's been the object of contention for decades and will continue to be. Angels (true angels, not the monstrosity Ash Landers turned out to be) want to save him. Demons want to devour him. Reapers want to claim him so they can finally close the book on that particular life.

Sebastian wants to keep him. Will keep him. Will not surrender him. He is the demon lord's prized possession, his plaything, his feast, his mate, his master. Under the terms of the contract Sebastian can do anything-- anything-- he is ordered to do by Ciel; so long as Ciel's will holds firm, Sebastian's powers have no limit.

Ciel's will, as many have learned to their regret, is adamantine.

So Ciel dreams. Through the long and often boring days when he plays the part of a 21st century aristocrat (old money, older pedigree, this lifetime he's claiming to be his own descendant) who also happens to be the CEO of a very successful toy and gaming company, he dreams of evening. Of being home, away from watchful prying eyes and cameras and people who want to use him in a myriad of ways (the fashions have changed, but the panderers and hangers-on not at all).

He dreams of fierce kisses and slender arms embracing him, sometimes so tightly he can't move, can barely breathe. He dreams of whispers in the night, sometimes tender, sometimes mocking, sometimes gutteral in content and tone alike. He dreams of darkness where he takes and is taken, possesses and is possessed.

Sometimes he is teased and tormented and driven to a fine frenzy, beating his fists on whatever portion of his lover's body he can reach, if he is left free to move that much. Sometimes he is cradled, soothed, with touches as light as feathers, and coaxed into ecstacy with an infinite patience. Sometimes it hurts, but even the pain is pleasant, seasoning the pleasure and making it stand out all the more clearly, and great care is taken that there should be no scars, no, nothing to mar the delicate pale skin the demon loves to caress. (Bruises are quite another thing; since they fade on their own, they're of no consequence. Ciel wouldn't even notice them, save for the need to conceal them from time to time.)

Always, always, he is adored. The myriad ways Sebastian shows his affections and desires are for Ciel alone. True, some of them aren't what a human would think of. (Not everyone enjoys being dragged outside and all but raped in the middle of a thunderstorm.) But Sebastian laughs and Sebastian weeps, these days, and lets Ciel see him doing both with no attempt at dissemblance.

On the days when they have to spend any time at all apart, the second there is no one watching they are in each other's arms, as if they wished to be one thing, one creature; in a way they are. One soul and one spirit, grafted together by mutual consent and desire, living two lives in two bodies. They still wear the contract seal, but it isn't the only thing that binds them now. In fact, it might be the weakest strand among the lengths of chain they've forged between them.

At night they talk as they lie curled in bed, plotting, planning a future crossing the millenia. Sebastian promises him a kingdom; on some distant soil they will rebuild the Victorian Age and make of it the entire world. The people who come to live there will raise their children, and their grandchildren, and soon enough forget their home isn't truly Earth, forget that Queen Victoria is a figure of ancient history; she will be a living monarch on the throne, and the British Empire will span the globe.

Ciel likes that thought. It's one of the things he looks forward to. He smiles at the thought of it, and smiles also at the thought that follows: his eventual end.

When at last the galaxies themselves wind down and all returns to void, Sebastian will hold wide his arms and envelop Ciel in dark wings, sealing them together forever. It will be only the two of them, nothing and no one else, for eternity and whatever lies beyond that.

Sebastian promises... and he never lies to his master.

So Ciel dreams.

*********

Sebastian dreams.

In this fine Gregorian year of 2014, 1875 was only an instant ago. He IS a demon, after all, a Prince of Hell no less. Time means nothing to him.

Yet again, it means everything to him, as it does to all his kind. Creatures of hunger, eternal, enduring, amazingly difficult (though not impossible) to permanently injure or kill, they are predators, pure and simple. Their prey? Humankind, in all the myriad fashions that _Homo sapiens_ may be made a meal of.

Quite literally that. Some of the lower orders, the imps and those just above imps, do in fact make a feast of mortal flesh. Tormented, wrung dry of any drop of vital essence, youth or beauty or talent or desire, then devoured.

Then there are his direct kin, the infernal nobility as it were, who dine on more delicate and refined fare. The point of contracting with humans is twofold; it allows the demon to season the soul to perfection with a gentle nudge here, a whispered hint there, driving them to the extremes of rage and sorrow and loss and pain, before ending it in the most excruciating (for the soul) and satisfying (for them) way. It also affords some amusement, a chance to relieve the shadows of boredom and ennui that can fill an ageless being like himself.

Demons DO so enjoy playing with their food.

He was looking forward to the taste of Ciel Phantomhive's soul. Many contracts across the span of millenia; never before a child. So few of those innocents available. This little one, however... salvation flung away, Providence shunned, Heaven foresworn, and a cry to the infinite for someone, anyone, anything, any answer at all. Despair and hate and the desire to live; above all else, the need for, no, DEMAND for revenge.

What a rare treat.

How could he have known this insufferable brat would come to be more than a moment's distraction and a succulent repast? If he HAD known, would he have turned away, refused to offer a contract?

Probably not.

The hunter brought to ground, captured as neatly as ever he ensnared any of his prey, and the worst (or best) of it is, he forged these fetters himself. Never before a butler, never before constrained to moderate his abilities and pretend to be only another mortal. It required considerable readjustment in his methods. At first exasperatingly so. Once he grew accustomed to it, it became, well... not so bad. Not bad at all. The first real challenge he'd faced in a long time. Pleasant, in its way.

Then he began to take satisfaction in his young master. Not physical, of course. No interest in that at the time. But the strength of Ciel's will, that was a beautiful thing. Charging into the abyss at a dignified pace, leaving the light behind without regret... so many contracts. So many masters (and mistresses). None such as this.

Satisfaction became pride, became a kind of affection, became an inescapable conclusion:

_I cannot lose him!_

Master of lies, Sebastian lied to himself and pretended it was nothing but a fascination with the boy's shining soul. Still innocent at its core despite all he'd done, all he'd seen. Lies which are half-truths are the best lies of all. They even fool the liar.

He has-- full truth now, no more lies, no more deception-- become in some ways too much the human he pretends to be. He's fallen in love, the impossible emotion, the grandest of jokes.

Of course Sebastian still fancies the occasional corrupt soul; he IS still a demon, will remain a demon, has no intention of trying not to be a demon. That hunger never, ever, completely leaves him. He indulges it when opportunity presents itself (and there are always opportunities available), much the same way a human will have a snack between meals. But Ciel has become the real answer to his hungers, all of them, the new and the old. In some way he doesn't fully understand their passions, their shared life, nourishes him now.

Or perhaps he's simply learned to nibble, as it were, rather than finish the entire banquet at one sitting; and in doing that, is it possible the soul he craves so much renews itself, since it is not made entirely away with...? It doesn't matter.

All that matters is Ciel is his. Sworn to him, bound to him, owned by him in entirety and his most precious treasure. He will never let the young Earl go, and, ah, best of all, Ciel doesn't wish to be set free. He is thriving on his new lifestyle, facing the myriad decades ahead with eagerness, learning how to smile again and even to laugh, if however seldom and brief.

They are playmates, soulmates, lovers, and Sebastian is the happiest he has ever been.

Something new there too. He's never known such enjoyment from bedding a human, that slow building to a cataclysm of sensation. Put plainly, let us be direct, demons need not climax. Arousal was a matter of the smallest effort of will, only what was needed to satisfy yet another order or obtain another bit of leverage. The act itself? Mildly comical and a bit tedious.

He remembers the first time as clearly as the moment itself. The young master, back from yet another tedious soiree, in a fine rage because he'd overheard some of the other nobles whispering about him. Gossiping about Ciel's youth, his size, his health... his ability to perform as a man, as a husband.

Of COURSE the Earl would react with fury; an anger filled with pride and disdain. But what that fury led to was the surprising part.

_("If I may, my lord... your anger is less to do with what was said and more to do with your justifiable concern as to the veracity of the discussion, is it not?"_

_With a snarl, the Earl spun round, half-rising from the chair. "You're going too far, Sebastian!"_

_"Not at all. Your well-being is the primary focus of my contract. To have you doubt yourself on any level is detrimental to your health. There are discreet ways to answer the issue, young master, in much the same way we solved the issues of your education."_

_Ciel's visible eye narrowed, then widened. "You don't mean..."_

_"A private and discreet... tutor, if you will... can teach you what you need to know as well as introduce you to the more pleasant side of that activity. Although I myself have no practical experience in that aspect--"_

_"You what? But-- you--"_

_"I didn't say I was incapable of the physical act, young master. I merely derive no satisfaction from it, unlike humans, who seem to find it eminently worth pursuit. Even to the point of their own destruction." Stepping forward, Sebastian refilled Ciel's teacup. "Give me the order, and I will secure the services of the appropriate professional, one of a suitable nature for the young lord's sensibilities."_

_"No."_

_A pause. "No?"_

_"No." Ciel sat, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them, staring at the top of his desk. "It's..."_

_"A blow to my lord's pride, to admit you have no idea what to do with a woman?"_

_"Idiot. Of course my pride, my family's pride, is important. But... remembering that. What those people used me for. How it felt. How it made me feel. I never want to be like that again. I never want anyone else to know exactly what happened. You say you're... capable of the physicality."_

_"Indeed sir. I have considerable expertise in both genders of partners."_

_"Then you will supervise my education in this. That's an order, Sebastian." A bitter little smile. "You'll no doubt take every opportunity to twit me with it, but I know it will go no further than it should. Nor do you care if I'm damaged goods."_

_"Yes, my lord.")_

How carefully he'd orchestrated the 'seduction' that evening, complete with explanations for each action; how to kiss, how and where to caress. He remembers showing Ciel that, yes, his body could and would respond to the right stimulus, that Ciel was not physically cripped in that area. Most of all Sebastian remembers (and cherishes) the moment when it stopped being a lesson on how to make love and became lovemaking; when the high-and-mighty Earl of Phantomhive whispered _Please..._ and _Love me... just a little... just tonight..._

Then of course pride and stubborn will reasserted itself; Ciel tried to flee. Tried to fling himself out of bed. Tried to pretend that heartfelt plea, too revealing, had never been uttered at all. _Begging._ For something, anything, any show of a softer emotion-- fool, and fool twice-over again, if he thought Sebastian could feel that way, would feel that way. Nothing but a meal, the finest dinner, how many times had the demon told him that? How many times pointed out that any attentions rendered, however they might seem, were only in deference to his demon's asthetics?

What a rare amusement. What a perfect chance to drive home the nails yet again.

(" _My lord. I give you my word. I swear it upon our contract. Although this may cause some discomfort at first, you will find it the most pleasurable of all our night's pursuits. Pray allow me to continue.")_

So marvelous that waltz of their two bodies. He'd enjoyed it more than any he'd ever had in all the dreary petty contracts before. Old and young and comely and ugly and desperate and bored, he'd sampled everything he'd thought humankind capable of in their search for release. It was so dreadfully important to them. Although, of course, what human need could match a demon's?

Smugness vanished in an instant when something unfurled in him. Something _new_ inside him. And that in itself had sparked a second new sensation: fear.

Demons fear nothing. They are the things of which fear is made. But something, something had shifted inside him, moved inside him, that fierce longing of his to devour utterly had changed without his permission and he hadn't liked it AT ALL.

Swift on the heels of that sea-change had been a myriad of other sensations, distracting him, dragging him along: a sudden eagerness to finish the coupling, the unbearably delectable sensation of being buried to the hilt in Ciel's body, his human seeming slipping its reins and running away with him as his back arched and he called his master's name, growled it, snarled it, yearning--

Ecstacy.

It'd singed him like no flame had ever burnt him, dared to burn him, before; the whole world turned to fire and he drank it down greedily, let it sear away the hunger

(impossible!)

and in its wake a third sensation, though this one hadn't been new at all.

He... was _satiated._

Sebastian remembers looking at the slight form beside him where he'd tumbled off after the moment, seeing Ciel looking back with curious concern and worry at his obvious discomposure. 'Discomposure', indeed. Two steps from an unwanted, unwelcome near-panic was more to the point. For one paralyzing instant he'd been sure he'd consumed Ciel's soul; else why the feeling of contentment? He remembers thinking _what the Hell WAS that?_ and the obvious answer, the inescapable answer: _so THAT'S why they chase it so eagerly._

That made him smile, then chuckle, then laugh out loud and catch the boy up in his arms to taste it again and again until Ciel was utterly exhausted. He learned to pace himself a little better in the evenings afterwards, learned Ciel's and his own limits. The young master always was physically delicate, even if his mind was steel and his will diamond. Talons were not made for tenderness. A demon's strength was not meant to be comforting. But he managed, and Ciel was then, is now, completely content with the results. They both are.

So Sebastian dreams. Through the hours of the household tasks (the servants are SUCH a pain, how he misses impalement as a disciplinary action, and really, MUST businesses deliberately hire the intellectually deficit as a matter of rote?), he dreams of the nights when his lord is his alone, with no others to distract or interfere. He dreams of skin like the finest silk and hair as soft as the back of a kitten's ear, dreams of a slight sweet body pressed close to his and all the things he will do to that body. Dreams of quiet moans and cries, completely involuntary; dreams of breathy screams of delight and a voice demanding _more, Sebastian, MORE._

Oh yes, the young master has always been a greedy one. But one can scarcely blame him, since the demon is also greedy in this regard; there is no such thing as 'enough of' or 'too much of' when it comes to their couplings. There is only 'enough for now', and that is usually based on Ciel's endurance. Usually. There have been and continue to be times when the Earl surprises him. Just another one of the things that make Ciel so enticing; he is upon occasion capable of outwitting and out-dissembling a demon. Much, much rarer than the populists would have the masses believe.

They lie awake at night after the physical needs are met discussing anything and everything that takes their fancy in the moments before slumber arrives. Sebastian doesn't often sleep (having no need of it) but from time to time he allows himself to indulge in that luxury, usually while his Ciel lies cradled in his arms.

He tells his young master tales from his past, weaves plans for the future to be. He will carve a kingdom for Ciel with his bare hands, pull down the moon if the boy wishes. Indeed, he already has a particular fancy in mind: the creation of a new England, a new British Empire, as their playground. (He knows Ciel misses the times of his birth, though the Earl seldom speaks of it.)

Sooner or later mankind will reach the stars, assuming they don't wipe one another out first. If they do, what of it? He can do anything if Ciel orders him to. It was a moment's action to raise the Phantomhive manor from ashes; a little more effort will shape a world to Ciel's desires. They will walk cobblestoned streets again, with fog rolling in from the river, and all the grand intrigues and galas will live again. Not quite the same, perhaps. This time perhaps the tedious march of science will cling a little longer to gaslight and gears-- 'steampunk' is the term, as Sebastian recalls. Perhaps he will take steps to see that it does so.

There will be room in that empire for an Earl and his faithful butler, clad in black and close as a shadow. It will last for a thousand years and more, if they have anything to say about it. And although they will be the true power behind the thrones-- the celestial toymakers as it were-- the whole thing will be like a lovely clockwork, wound up and set in motion to run by itself with no interference from them. They will watch it to see where it goes, and let it surprise and annoy and entertain them by turns as they move in time to its progression.

When that is done? Something else will take its place, some other amusement, he'll think of one. And when at last all games are ended, when creation folds in on itself, he will hold Ciel to him in one final never-ending embrace. Together, inseparable, they will pass into the unknown.

Shrouded in night, Ciel whispers that he loves his noble beast, his demon prince; looks forward to the aeons ahead with him. In this, he does not lie. Neither to Sebastian nor to himself.

So Sebastian dreams.


End file.
